Time For Murder
by Holstered .38
Summary: An argument at a 'Wild West' fundraiser evening results in a death. the fab four begin to investigate but before long one of them is fighting for their life. Can the others solve the mystery in time to save them? R&R please :)
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: The characters of Dr Mark Sloan, Lieutenant Steve Sloan, Dr Amanda Bentley and Dr Jesse Travis are the property of CGS and Viacom. I have only borrowed them for a short while, and no profit is being made from this.  
  
I would like to dedicate this story to John and Lorraine for all their encouragement. Thanks.  
  
  
  
TIME FOR MURDER  
  
  
  
1 "I can't believe you managed to talk me into this," remarked Steve Sloan in a very disgruntled tone.  
  
2 His father smiled at him in the mirror as he straightened his own bootlace tie. "You know it's all in a good cause. The burns unit at the hospital need to raise money, so I bought tickets for all of us to the 'Wild West' night."  
  
Still unconvinced, Steve pulled his black leather waistcoat over the red checked shirt he was wearing. Around his waist he wore a holstered Colt Peacemaker that his grandfather had given him as a young man. The weapon still worked, but he preferred to wear his regular 9mm Beretta; unfortunately, it didn't really tie in with the rest of his outfit. The metal six-pointed star pinned to his vest mirrored that of his regular L.A.P.D. Lieutenant's badge.  
  
A voice from behind made both father and son jump, "Well, if it ain't Deputy Dawg!" drawled the heavily disguised voice of Dr Jesse Travis. Neither Dr Mark Sloan nor his son, Steve, had heard the young surgeon from Community General Hospital's ER department knock or enter the beach house. Jesse stood before them wrapped in a blanket poncho, suede cowboy hat, sporting a day's growth of stubble and chewing on an unlit cigar.  
  
"And who are you supposed to be?" asked Steve with a wicked smile.  
  
"Clint Eastwood of course!" exclaimed Jesse, rather hurt that no one recognised his disguise.  
  
Steve laughed and patted his best friend on the shoulder as he passed by to answer the latest knock at the door. He let out a long low whistle when he opened the door and invited Dr Amanda Bentley into the house. "Wow!" remarked Jess as the cigar fell from his mouth. Amanda flowed into the front room dressed in an elegant violet and white frilled dress. The bodice strung around her body accentuating her curvaceous figure. In her slicked back black hair she wore a beaded hair clasp with imitation flowers in matching violet and white tones.  
  
The three men stood in awe at her beauty before Mark approached her, dressed all in black, held out his arm "Excuse me, ma'm," he began "May I escort you to the fundraiser?"  
  
"Why, Mr Earp," she replied coyly. "You may."  
  
Steve and Jesse just looked at each other, smiled and followed on behind.  
  
The barn was set out with the stage at one end, where the band was playing country music and straw bales outlined a dance floor. The other end had the 'saloon' with tables and chairs. Many people had taken advantage of the latter and most of the tables were occupied. The group managed to find a free table close to the dance floor and took up their seats. Mark pulled out a chair for Amanda, who slid gracefully into her seat. "Why thank you kind sir," she smiled at the white haired gentleman. Steve pulled up a chair and sat across the table from his father and to the left of Amanda. Jesse, meanwhile, had headed off to the bar to get a round of drinks. He returned with three beers for the men in their group and a chilled white wine for Amanda all balanced precariously on a metal tray. The band began to play a tune Mark recognised and he asked Amanda to join him for this dance. Offering her hand, Mark escorted her to the dance floor. The pair of them floated around the straw bale framed area in perfect harmony. Steve's eyes drifted around the many faces that were attending the event, until they alighted upon a young woman. She had dark hair fastened up into a 'school-marm' type bun at the back; she wore a crisp white high neck blouse and a full length skirt with a few layers of petticoats showing at it's hem. Steve just watched her watching his father and Amanda dance. Suddenly, he was aware Jesse was talking to him when the young doctor waved his hand in front of his eyes. "Earth to Steve…Hey buddy, are you OK?"  
  
Steve blinked and with a gentle shake of his head looked at Jesse, "What?"  
  
"You were miles away just then – where'd you go?" Slowly following Steve's gaze he answered his own question. "Wow – no wonder you didn't hear a word I said!" he smirked. "Why don't you ask her for a dance?"  
  
"No…er, I mean I…"  
  
"Man, have you got it bad!" Jess just shook his head in disbelief.  
  
Mark and Amanda returned to their table, catching the tail end of Jesse's remark.  
  
"Are you alright?" Mark asked concerned. His fears faded as Jesse subtly pointed in the direction of the mystery woman.  
  
A group of line dancers were now displaying their moves to a crowd who clapped in time to the music. Mark, Amanda and Jess clapped along. Steve rose out of his chair and walked over to the dark haired beauty. "Excuse me," he began. She looked up to him with her deep dark eyes and smiled. "I'm not really one for dancing, but would you care for a walk outside?" Her thin lips curled upwards into a smile and the two of them left the barn. "That's better," smiled Steve. "At least out here you can hear yourself think!" The mysterious beauty on his arm smiled once more. "I think I had better introduce myself, I'm Steve Sloan," he said offering his arm.  
  
"Pleased to meet you, Steve. I'm Danielle Kozlowski, but my friends just call me Dani," she linked her arm through his as the pair of them took in the evening air.  
  
The night breeze sent a chill down Dani's back making her shiver. Steve held her close wrapping his arms around her slender frame. The stars reflected gentle twinkles in the dark pools of her eyes as she gazed into his ice blue spheres. Their heads moved closer resulting in a passionate kiss. Almost at once, neither one of them seemed to be aware of the chill in the air any longer. As the kiss came to an end Dani suggested that they ought to return to the barn, Steve nodded and they leisurely made their way back, Steve's arm curled around her shoulders and Dani's wrapped round his waist. The sound of 'hillbilly' music gradually increasing in intensity as they neared the barn.  
  
Just as they were about to enter the throng of the Wild West atmosphere Steve heard raised voices from around the corner. "It's mine and I want it back," shouted one. Steve ushered Dani back into the barn, assured her he would return soon, and returned outside to investigate. The police officer in him assessed the situation and realised trouble was brewing.  
  
In the meantime, "I'll never let you have it…" declared a man in his late 40's. He was wearing a brown suit, white shirt, a bootlace tie like Steve's father's all topped off with a large beige Stetson. The other man bent over and picked up something. In the pale moonlight Steve caught a glimpse of it – it was a section of scaffold. The man, with his back to Steve, lifted the pole and brought it down with force against the larger man's temple, which made the man in the brown suit fall to the floor in a crumpled heap.  
  
"Freeze, police…" shouted Steve, as he witnessed the attack but was powerless to prevent it. He cursed as he reached for his gun, and remembered he was not wearing his standard issue weapon. The assailant dropped the pole and, pausing only long enough to snatch something from the dead man, dashed around the far side of the barn and into the night, before Steve was able to discharge a single round. The off-duty detective rushed to the victim's side, but was unable to feel a pulse. The man was obviously quite wealthy thought Steve, judging by the large wrist watch, probably a Rolex, and thick gold chain around his wrist and a couple of heavyweight gold rings on his left hand.  
  
Rising to his feet, he lifted the large Colt from it's holster and gave chase, but was dismayed to find no sign of the murderer in the crowd, who were blissfully unaware of the violence that had taken place just meters away.  
  
Steve replaced his weapon in its' leather sheath and moved towards the table occupied by his father and two friends. Dani watched from the bar as all four of them left the party together. The body still lay on the damp grass, blood oozing from the impact site on the side of the dead man's head. Amanda bent over the corpse and confirmed that the man was dead. Her preliminary examination confirmed that death was caused by a massive blow to the left side of the head from a heavy blunt object. Steve left Mark, Amanda and Jesse with the body as he went to his vehicle to call the incident in to the precinct on his police radio. He returned with a large plastic bag, in which he placed the length of scaffold, careful not to touch the item with his own fingers or contaminate the evidence.  
  
Within ten minutes the entire area buzzed with uniformed officers who took statements from each and every guest. Flashing red and blue lights from the police cars dotted around the barn illuminated the scene. The officers from the County Medical Examiners department arrived to remove the body, once the scenes of crime technicians had documented the area with photographs. Amanda returned to Community General with the body.  
  
The fundraiser had been brought to a premature close by the evening's events. Danielle Kozlowski walked toward Steve who, after noticing the young woman's approach, moved to intercept her. "Look, I'm sorry about this evening," he apologised.  
  
She smiled an understanding smile in acknowledgement and gave him her phone number. "Give me a call and maybe we can enjoy a quiet night together!" Her remark brought a smile to the strong features of the detective before she turned to leave for home.  
  
Jesse walked up to his best friend and patted him on the shoulder, "Phew, I don't know how you manage it. You find yourself a gorgeous woman and end up spending the evening with a stiff!" His remark earned him a harsh stare prior to them both being joined by Dr Mark Sloan.  
  
"Steve, did you see or hear anything before he was struck on the head?"  
  
"No, not really," Steve closed his eyes trying to replay the events in his head. "The attacker had his back to me. He was wearing a long overcoat, jeans, I think, and a cowboy hat. That's all I could make out in the dim light. I did hear that the dead man had something that the other man wanted, but I have no idea what it was."  
  
"That's OK son," replied his father. "Let's see if Amanda has come up with anything." Jesse bid the father and son team goodnight as he had an early shift the next morning. "Goodnight Jess," Steve and Mark called out in unison before they returned to Steve's truck to head along the Pacific Coast Highway to CGH.  
  
The two men walked in silence along the long corridor towards Dr Bentley's office, their footsteps echoed within the silent passage. "Hey, Amanda" called Steve as he noticed she had transformed from the elegant outfit she had worn that evening into her dark blue pathology scrubs. "I thought Cinderella changed back at midnight, it's only ten to!" he joked. Amanda returned his attempt at humour with one of her renowned stares, closely followed by her gorgeous smile, for she knew she couldn't stay annoyed at her friend for long. Switching back into his detective mode, Steve asked, "What have you managed to find out?"  
  
"The deceased is a white male, aged 42, called Oscar Fielding. I've bagged up all his possessions in that box," she said pointing to a large cardboard box sitting on the table behind her two late night visitors.  
  
"Do you mind if we take these away with us tonight to go through them, as it is getting quite late?" Mark asked looking at his watch and combing his fingers through his dishevelled white hair.  
  
"Yes, that's OK. I haven't run any tests on the pole yet, so if you can just leave it in the bag. Other than that, I don't see a problem at all." Amanda knew and trusted both Mark and Steve, little did she realise just how much she was about to need her friends.  
  
Mark smiled at the young pathologist. "Thanks Amanda. Now you make sure you go home and get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow. G'night."  
  
"Goodnight Mark, Steve. I'll be here early tomorrow to get the autopsy done." She called to them as they left. Steve carried the box down the hall to the elevator. Mark pushed the button and noticed Steve trying to stifle a yawn.  
  
A short drive later, Steve placed the cardboard container upon the kitchen table, letting another yawn escape. "Dad? Can we do this in the morning? It's been a really long day and I could do with a few hours sleep."  
  
Mark hadn't realised how tired Steve looked until that moment. He didn't know his son had been up for the past 30 hours without rest. "Sure Steve," his fatherly tone emphasising his love for his son. "See you in the morning." Steve disappeared downstairs to his apartment and Mark headed for his own bed on the upper floor.  
  
Meanwhile, Amanda just finished up at her lab. Her obsession for an orderly workspace left her placing Oscar Fielding's preliminary notes in a beige folder and filing them in her orderly filing system. She was unaware that she was being watched from the room across the hall.  
  
Finally, Amanda flicked off the pathology department lights and headed for the locker room to collect her evening dress. She decided not to change back and left the hospital for her black 4x4 still dressed in her scrubs. The mystery person watched her struggle with her keys in the lock, as she tried to juggle with the many frills of the dress in an attempt not to drop them into an inconveniently positioned puddle under her car.  
  
The drive back to her apartment was uneventful. Amanda did not notice the two headlights that had followed her to her apartment from the hospital. As she pulled up out the front of her place the outline of a dark grey sedan drove past pulling into a space across the street. He waited for Amanda to enter her front door before the figure of a man in a long overcoat and jeans exited his vehicle and crossed the street. 


	2. Time for murder chapter 2

CHAPTER 2  
  
Steve was up early the following morning and was already looking through the box of bagged evidence when Mark entered the kitchen dressed in his navy robe. "What time did you get up this morning?" asked a disbelieving Mark as he saw his son was washed, dressed and drinking a mug of freshly brewed coffee. He looked at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall. It read a quarter to seven.  
  
"About an hour ago," replied Steve with a broad grin. Mark just smiled and shook his head as he poured himself a mug of liquid caffeine. "There's not much here to go on," remarked Steve as he took another slurp at his coffee. "Fielding's wallet contained $65, credit cards and a drivers license. He was also wearing a very expensive wristwatch and gold jewellery, so it's possible the motive was robbery.  
  
Mark nodded his head in agreement. "But there's got to be something we're missing," the senior Sloan commented. "We're just not seeing it. You said the argument was about something Oscar Fielding had and that our mystery man wanted. Maybe, it's not on his person but at his apartment," Mark thought out loud.  
  
"I'll go over later and check it out." Steve looked at his watch and then back at his father. "Aren't you supposed to be at work in half an hour?"  
  
Mark looked at the clock and glugged down the last of his coffee realising he hadn't showered or dressed yet.  
  
"Looks like the head of internal medicine is going to be a bit late this morning!" declared Steve to on one in particular, a cheeky grin stretched across his face.  
  
Mark walked into the ER and was immediately met by Dr Jesse Travis. He was holding a chart belonging to Mrs Janet Owen, a victim of her over protective dog. She had tried to retrieve the dog's dinner bowl but 'Shambles' had taken exception to this and decided on having some fresh meat for it's dinner, namely Mrs Owen's arm. "Hey Jess," called Mark as Jesse finished dotting his 'i's and crossing his 't's on the chart. "Have you seen Amanda?"  
  
The young surgeon shook his head "No, I've not seen her this morning anyway."  
  
Mark furrowed his brow. "Strange, she said she'd meet us in the doctor's lounge this morning."  
  
"Maybe she got held up downstairs," remarked Jess, as he noticed how concerned Mark appeared.  
  
"Maybe…" replied Mark distantly.  
  
Before either doctor could investigate Amanda's absence Steve arrived and asked the same question they had just asked themselves. "Where's Amanda?" The two doctors just looked at him, then to each other, prior to heading off to pathology, leaving the detective standing in the middle of the corridor totally confused by their actions.  
  
Mark and Jesse stood at the door to Amanda's office and just stared at the mess that covered the room. Her files and paperwork lay spread across the desk and floor; boxes of evidence, from other cases, had their contents scattered all around. Steve walked up behind the two doctors, puzzled why neither had entered, until he saw for himself the carnage that lay before them. The doors on each of the cadaver bays were open but only one of the sliding tables was extended, that of the body of Oscar Fielding.  
  
The trio called out Amanda's name on the slim possibility that she lay somewhere within the chaos of her office. Jesse shook his head, "She's not here."  
  
"We'd better check out her place," stated Mark, concern for his friend's safety edging at his voice.  
  
"I'm on it," replied Steve as he ran toward the elevator.  
  
Steve's white pickup truck skidded to an abrupt halt behind Amanda's 4x4 blocking it in. His magnetic blue flashing light sat atop the white cab, still flashing as Steve exited his vehicle and headed for Amanda's apartment. The door stood ajar. Steve drew his 9mm Beretta, checked the clip and entered Dr Bentley's front door cautiously. Inside, her normally immaculate home, was in a similar state to that of her office. Files, books and magazines carpeted the wooden floor; vases and pictures smashed and clothes lay strewn all over her bedroom.  
  
Steve called his father "Dad? I'm at Amanda's…No she's not here, but someone else has been and I don't mean the cleaner – although she's going to need one after this." Steve's light-heartedness was trying to conceal his growing worry for his friend and Mark could tell this from the other end of the line. "Dad…you had better come over here…I think Amanda is in serious trouble." Steve's tone changed completely as he noticed a smear of blood on one of the painted white doors. He touched it with his finger. The blood was still tacky.  
  
"I'm on my way," replied Mark and hung up the phone, his face troubled. "Jess, could you stay here and see what you can find? I know it's one hell- of-a-job, but do you think you can let us know if anything is missing?"  
  
"Sure," replied Jesse not really sure at all where to start. "But it'll take me a while!"  
  
"Thanks," Mark responded patting the young doctor affectionately on the back.  
  
Mark entered Amanda's apartment to see fingerprint officers dusting the magnetic silver powder onto the doorframes, coffee table and fragments of broken vase in the hope of lifting a recognisable print with which to identify the intruder who had caused such devastation. In the centre of the room, overseeing the proceedings, stood Lieutenant Steve Sloan. "Hi dad," he called as he realised his father had arrived.  
  
"It's just like at the hospital. I think someone was looking for something," Mark paused as his logical mind tried to piece together all the facts. "Whatever it is that this person wants, they still don't have it."  
  
"What makes you think that?" asked Steve carefully watching his father, trying to hitch a ride upon his train of thought.  
  
"Amanda…" Mark blurted. Steve looked confused. "He took Amanda. If he had got what he was after, why take a hostage?"  
  
"Right," Steve announced, slowly catching on.  
  
"C'mon. Let's get back to the hospital and find out if Jess has found anything."  
  
Amanda lay bound and confused as she listened to a low rumble. The dark confined space she occupied was the trunk of a car. The rumble of the car tyres across the tarmac together with the fumes from the exhaust were sending her semi-conscious body back to the darkness from which she had just awoken.  
  
It was morning when the dark skinned pathologist came round again. Once her blurred vision cleared, she noted the dingy room she occupied was that of a basement. Fingers of pale light touched out at the overcrowded, damp surroundings, from a filthy letterbox window, about ten feet up. Even if she could get to it, she would not be able to fit through such a narrow gap. She returned her attention to the ropes that were cutting into her wrists. Amanda fidgeted around upon the mildew-ridden mattress upon which she lay, until she was able to bring her arms around her back and slide her legs through. Now with her hands in front of her she sat up and let out a large sigh. Reaching forward she untied her feet. Using her teeth, Amanda tried to untie the knots that held her wrists, but they were too tight. The medical examiner used all her ingenuities as she looked around, her eyes settling on a glass jar sat on a worktop. Her thoughts debated amongst themselves – should she smash the jar to create a sharp implement to cut her bindings or would the sound alert her captor to her attempts at escape? Weighing the risks she decided upon freedom. Before she smashed the jar, she wrapped an old cloth she had pulled from a heap on the floor, around it to act as a silencer. It worked! The jar smashed – Amanda listened for a moment, hardly daring to breath before she unwrapped the glass shards. With all the precision of a surgeon she carefully worked one of the fragments over the ropes that held her prisoner. Amanda soothed her chaffed wrists with her hands once she was free, stopping only to suck the blood from her finger where the glass had nicked at her skin. Looking around in the dim light she began to look for a means of escape. Moving forward, Amanda walked around some crates that had been stacked, rather precariously, one on top of another. Without warning, a rat dashed out from it's hiding place startling the pathologist to such an extent she knocked into the crates behind her. The top crate teetered and fell onto the unlucky doctor rendering her unconscious. 


	3. Time for murder chapter 3

CHAPTER 3  
  
Back at the hospital, pathology was beginning to look more like it should. Nearly all the files were back in their respective cabinets. Jesse blew his fringe upwards as he expelled a large sigh. "Phew! I'd rather have a crisis in ER than have to go through all that paperwork again!" smiled the cheeky ER resident. Mark chuckled at the young doctors lack of enthusiasm toward paperwork.  
  
"What did you find? Anything missing or out of the ordinary?"  
  
"Not really. These are the cases Amanda is currently working on, each one a suspicious death. The only thing I can't seem to find are any belongings to the murder victim from last night's 'Wild West' night."  
  
Mark looked up over the top of his spectacles at Jesse. "That's right!" he exclaimed. "We have that box back at the beach house."  
  
"So whatever this person is after could be in that box," concluded Steve. "But I went through everything and couldn't find anything worth killing for."  
  
All three friends went back to the beach house to go through the box again. Mark tipped the contents over the kitchen table.  
  
They consisted of:  
  
Scaffold pole (The murder weapon)  
  
A brown three-piece suit  
  
A beige Stetson  
  
A boot-lace tie with a bulls head fastener  
  
A black leather wallet containing $65, four credit cards and drivers' license  
  
A Rolex watch – with two sets of 6 numbers engraved on it's reverse  
  
A heavy weight gold bracelet  
  
2 gold rings – one signet, the other a sovereign  
  
A zip lighter with the initials 'O.F.' engraved on the front.  
  
"Well, I still can't see anything worth committing murder for," remarked Steve as they fumbled through the dead man's possessions.  
  
"It's what you don't see," remarked Mark, his expression changed to a broad smile. "We were at a barn last night, in the middle of nowhere – how did he get there? None of the statements received indicated he was with anyone, and even if he took a cab where are his house keys?"  
  
"KEYS!" exclaimed Jesse and Steve together.  
  
"I'll have the area checked out for an unclaimed car." A few minutes later the phone rang. Steve answered the brief call. "You were right dad," he began after he had hung up the receiver. "There was a car registered to Oscar Fielding still at the Wild West venue." Steve grabbed his jacket and headed out the door to check it out.  
  
Mark held his head in his cupped hands. Jesse moved closer to his friend and mentor and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We'll get her back safely, you'll see." The soft tones of his voice were typical of his bedside manner, and brought the white haired physician to look into the soft features of the younger doctor. Jesse suddenly noticed the worry for Amanda, whom Mark considered an 'unofficial' daughter, had added years to the normally youthful looking senior surgeon. He had seen that same look before, when Steve had been battling for his own life, and Mark was powerless to help his son.  
  
The blue Chrysler sat in the field that had been used as the parking area the previous evening. The doors were all locked. Using a piece of wire from the back of his truck, Steve implemented some of his less professional training as he broke into the saloon with ease. Methodically, the Lieutenant went through the entire car looking for a clue to help him work out how he could rescue Amanda. Bar a few parking slips and empty chocolate wrappers the car provided nothing. "Damn," Steve cursed as he slammed the car door in frustration.  
  
The blackness began to fade, being replaced by a nauseating sensation and stabbing pain in Amanda's chest. The crate had fallen on her, fracturing at least one of her ribs. Amanda's breathing was shallow and painful. A self-diagnosis meant she had probably sustained a punctured lung and her chest cavity was gradually filling with fluid. She knew that if she didn't receive medical attention soon her lung would completely collapse. Now desperate for help she tried to make as much noise as possible without causing herself any further damage. After a couple of minutes, it was evident no one was coming to her rescue. The pressure building in her chest made it hard for her to breath. Her wheezing and the burning pain in the chest allowed her consciousness to be enveloped in darkness once more.  
  
At his desk back at the precinct, Steve pondered over the other names in the files Jesse had managed to salvage from the mayhem that was Dr Bentley's office.  
  
Albert Hudson, suspected of murdering James Connors, a real estate agent, after the late Mr Connors decided to sell the same piece of property to no less than four different buyers and collect the finance from each. However, with regards to this case, Albert Hudson was still in police custody after he attacked the arresting officer with a ladder-back chair.  
  
Another suspect was Steven Cassidy, who killed his business partner, David Downs by hitting the unfortunate Mr Downs with his silver Mercedes. Again, the other possible suspect in Amanda's disappearance was in hospital following a drunken accident involving his very dented Mercedes and a sturdy beech tree.  
  
Lastly, there was Michelle Delsavo, a spurned lover of the recently deceased Neil Robson. Michelle worked as a waitress at the all night café over on Beaumont Avenue. Her boss and at least five other witnesses all confirmed she was working the night of Amanda's abduction.  
  
Steve shook his head with dismay. All the leads he had were going nowhere. What he needed was a break. He rose out of his chair and poured himself a cup of luke warm stewed coffee from the pot near the chief's office. The phone on his desk rang three times before he picked the handset out of it's cradle, the information he received brought a smile to the detective's lips.  
  
Steve ran into the beach house waving a police report in his hand. "The fingerprint results from Amanda's apartment have come back. We have a positive match!" Both Mark and Jesse looked up with building anticipation. "They belong to a Carlos Hernandez. So, do you want to come with me to check out his place?" continued Steve.  
  
"You bet!" chorused Mark and Jesse with renewed enthusiasm.  
  
It was late afternoon when Steve's truck and Jesse's blue convertible VW Beetle pulled up outside the gates of 1127 Ocean Drive. The impressive Spanish features were typical to the area. The white washed building stood high above a well-manicured front garden. Lieutenant Sloan, his father and Dr Travis walked up to the large wooden front door; Steve knocked loudly to attract the owners' attention. A Hispanic woman, aged about 25, opened the door. She was dressed in a plain grey uniform with a white apron tied around her waist. Steve opened his police ID and asked "Is Mr Carlos Hernandez in? I have a warrant to search this property."  
  
The young maid allowed the trio of investigators in and ushered them into a waiting room whilst she went to inform 'Senor Hernandez', as she called him. Mark walked around the well-furnished waiting room. The pictures that hung on the wall, Mark noted, were all original works of fine art, as was the furniture and ornaments.  
  
"Man," exclaimed Jesse. "This guy has got some serious taste problems!" as he looked at a particularly vulgar painting.  
  
"Jesse!" scolded Mark. "That's an original by…" Mark didn't get the opportunity to finish his sentence, as Hernandez entered the room.  
  
"Carlos Hernandez? I have a warrant to search these premises," Steve's voice was calm and authoritative.  
  
Hernandez just waved his hand casually and uttered a monosyllabic "Cie" in reply.  
  
Steve, Mark and Jesse began to sort through the entire contents of the house, trying to find a link between Hernandez and Oscar Fielding whilst trying to find any clues to the whereabouts of Amanda Bentley.  
  
A couple of hours later Jesse pipes up, "Hey, here's something." A half smile across his face, as he looked at his friends for confirmation of his find.  
  
"It's a receipt for a rented building over on East 37th Street," read Mark.  
  
"Worth checking out when we're done here," Steve agreed.  
  
"I've got to head back to CGH. My shift starts in just over an hour," announced Jess. His voice expressed his disappointment at not being able to continue on the detective trail.  
  
"OK Jess," Mark patted his friend on the shoulder. "Thanks for your help. I'll let you know what we come up with."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Steve and Mark left 1127 Ocean Drive about half an hour later. Carlos Hernandez watched them leave from an upstairs window, his face embittered with loathing.  
  
Mark looked at his wristwatch. It was 7.30pm and although it was still daylight, he wondered if investigating the property on East 37th would be better left until the morning. Steve on the other hand, could not let a lead rest. He knocked sharply at the managers' apartment. A slovenly dressed man opened the door and in a gruff and uncooperative voice said "Yeah, what d'ya want?"  
  
"I'm Lieutenant Steve Sloan, LAPD. I need to check a property you leased to a Carlos Hernandez," flashing the man his police ID.  
  
"Yeah? Get a warrant," growled the manager and he tried to shut the door in their face.  
  
Steve stopped him by putting his foot in the door and pushed back against the reinforced entrance. The green paint flaked onto his hand as he forced the door back. "Look," Steve's voice brimmed with contempt. "You can let us in to that apartment or, I can get health and safety over here, cause I'm sure there are a number of citations they can issue on these properties."  
  
The man eyed him suspiciously before reaching for his set of master keys. The manager showed them the way to apartment 3B, opened the door and left the father and son team alone to enter the room.  
  
"Friendly chap," remarked Mark with a chuckle.  
  
"Yeah," replied Steve sarcastically.  
  
Both Sloan's poked around the sparsely furnished apartment. The bare floorboards creaked as the detecting duo moved from room to room.  
  
The haze lifted, and Amanda returned to the here and now as the distant sound of voices tugged at her semi-conscious mind. In a final attempt to get the help she urgently required, Amanda picked up a piece of metal that lay on the ground near her and began to bang on the crate that pinned her to the ground. Her signal stopping briefly as a cough took the breath from her lungs, forcing her to rest a few moments. Just above her, in the apartment, Mark paused as he heard something. "What's up dad?" asked Steve as he noticed his father's distracted look."  
  
"Ssh, listen…" Both men strained to hear what Mark had heard, but the only audible sound was that of the TV in the adjacent apartment.  
  
"It's probably next d…" Steve didn't get the opportunity to finish his sentence as they both heard the metallic sound again. Steve drew his gun as he made his way to a door in the kitchen, with Mark close at his heels. The door was locked. Steve took a few paces back before he opened the door with a sharp kick. Splinters from the frame flew into the air as the door swung open to reveal a staircase into a darkened basement. Cautiously, Steve flicked at the switch but nothing happened. The detective knew the dangers of entering an unlit room, especially when he believed there to be a possible fugitive held up within. Mark searched the kitchen cupboards for a flashlight, finally finding one with a dim beam. "Sorry son, this was the best I could manage."  
  
Steve grinned and proceeded down the steps alone, until he could confirm his fathers' safety. Scouting around, Steve heard the noise once again, this time louder. He shone the fading beam of the flashlight to the place from which the sound had emanated. "Dad!" his voice panicked as the pale light found the outline of Amanda Bentley.  
  
Dr Mark Sloan practically flew down the stairs as he recognised the urgency in his son's voice. "Oh my God," Mark uttered as he saw the sickly shade of his friend and colleague's body. He reached forward and checked the pulse in her neck. "Call 911, she's alive, but barely." Steve dashed back up the stairs to ensure his cell phone got a good reception. He returned to the basement and reported that an ambulance had been dispatched and was on its way.  
  
Mark and Steve picked up the heavy crate off of Amanda's chest; Mark gave the unconscious pathologist a quick examination whilst Steve returned upstairs to meet the paramedics.  
  
The EMT's stretchered the frail body of Amanda to the waiting ambulance. Mark joined the crew and headed to Community General Hospital in the back. He held her hand and offered soft words of encouragement to his friend.  
  
The sound of sirens approached the ER at Community General, which sent the medical team into standby for the latest emergency. Dr Jesse Travis greeted the ambulance crew as they wheeled the gurney through the swing doors. "Amanda!" the young surgeon exclaimed.  
  
The paramedic began to reel off a list of medical jargon. Jesse switched into his professional mode as the gurney was wheeled into trauma two surrounded by a team of nursing staff. Mark watched on, as he stood numb in the entrance to the ER. Steve caught up with his father and walked the shocked physician to a chair nearby. "How is she?" he asked. Mark just shrugged his shoulders. Father and son sat in silence, watching the doctors work feverishly through the glass of the trauma room window.  
  
Steve thought of all the times Amanda had been there for him, and now she needed help, he was powerless to do anything. Mark hung his head low and prayed for the woman he considered as much a part of his family as his son.  
  
The door to the examination room swung open and Jesse walked out in blood stained light blue scrubs. He took Mark and Steve to the doctor's lounge to talk to them without any distractions. "Amanda received a punctured lung and three broken ribs. We've inserted a chest drain and she is in an oxygen tent at the moment; she also received a mild case of carbon monoxide poisoning. If you hadn't gotten to her when you did…" Jesse's voice trailed away as tears began to well in his blue/green eyes. Mark pulled him close and the pair shared a comforting hug. Steve placed a grateful hand upon his best friend's shoulder.  
  
The hands on the clock ticked by as both Mark and Steve awaited news on their recovering friend. Jesse had returned to the ER as a four car RTA was on its' way. Steve drank from his third cup of coffee and 'played' with the empty receptacle. His anger and frustration building to a crescendo when the piece of china flew across the room, shattering into several pieces against the magnolia painted wall. Mark looked up at the wall, the mocha stain trickling down the paintwork, and then to his son in stunned silence. A nurse came to the door to find out what all the noise was about, but Dr Sloan dismissed her with the raised palm of his right hand. "Steve?!" Mark demanded an explanation for his son's outburst of temper.  
  
"Dad, I can't just sit around her and do nothing whilst Amanda lay in intensive care, fighting for her life." The aggression was still evident in his voice.  
  
Mark knew Steve and Amanda had always been close, and the pair had shared moments that normally only a couple would share, without the actual physical side encumbering their love of each other. "Now, didn't your mother and I teach you not to throw things indoors?" Mark scolded.  
  
This sudden outburst from his father took Steve by surprise, and equally as quick cooled the anger that welled in his stomach. "Sorry dad," he apologised.  
  
"No son," Mark began, a twinkle of an idea growing in his eyes, "what we need is to find out what Hernandez wants and let his own greed do the rest." Steve looked puzzled, but he knew his father was working on a plan and trusted his instincts implicitly. "Can you get the box containing Oscar Fielding's belongings? I want to have another look at them."  
  
"Sure, but we've already been through all his stuff."  
  
"I know, I just want to check something out. I'm going to sit with Amanda for a while."  
  
"OK," responded Steve as he snatched up his keys from the table and practically ran straight into a nurse as he left the doctor's lounge. Mark grinned at his son's enthusiasm and set about picking up the pieces of broken crockery before he headed off toward ICU.  
  
Mark stared through the window of Amanda Bentley's room looking at all the monitors, the IV and the oxygen tent that shrouded her. A voice from behind snapped him out of his trance. "Are you going to sit with her?" Jesse asked. The young doctor had taken a few minutes to check on his patient.  
  
"Hmm," Mark nodded in response.  
  
"Her vitals have stabilised and in about an hour she should be ready to come off the oxygen," Jesse reported after glancing at Amanda's chart. "The chest drain has done it's job, and her lung has re-inflated," he continued holding two x-rays against the light box on the far side of the room. Jesse's cheeky smile returned. "I think Amanda is going to back to bossing us about in no time at all, after she's had some rest."  
  
A feint groan emanated from the patient that caused both Mark and Jesse to turn in her direction. "Keep the noise down, I've got a splitting headache," Amanda's croaked.  
  
Jesse ticked off her chart "Good. Sense of humour still intact!"  
  
Mark couldn't help but grin at his friend's comment, but was relieved Amanda was now conscious again. "You had us all worried my dear. It's good to have you back," he squeezed her hand affectionately. "Get some rest, we'll be back later." Mark and Jesse left the room together. They met Steve in the corridor carrying the brown cardboard box and passed on the good news of their friend's condition. All three headed off back to the doctor's lounge. Jesse shut the door behind them as Mark tipped the contents onto the table. Sorting through the array of bagged belongings, Mark stopped and picked up the watch. "I think this is what our killer is after," he announced to the pair of dumbfounded onlookers.  
  
"Do you know what your father is on about?"  
  
Steve just looked blankly at Jesse and without the slightest hint of confidence replied "Of course," which convinced neither of them.  
  
"These numbers on the back – 34:26:52 and 118:32:47, I know what they are." Steve and Jesse continued to look at Mark waiting for him to explain himself. "We dismissed them as serial numbers or something, but in fact they are references." Mark could see his excitement was being perceived as ramblings. "Steve, do you still have that reference map in your truck?" His son nodded. "Can you get it?" Steve disappeared for a few minutes but Mark didn't enlighten Jess in this time, he simply cleared the table of the other items that once belonged to Oscar Fielding. Steve returned with the folded map and handed it to the adrenaline-hyped physician. Mark spread the map across the table. "Now," talking to himself, Mark read the numbers again. "34 degrees 26 minutes 52 seconds North by 118 degrees 32 minutes 47 seconds West."  
  
"Map co-ordinates!" exclaimed an enthused Jesse.  
  
Steve's fingers coursed the map and stabbed his finger at the point where they intercepted. "OK, so what now? It's just some woodland."  
  
"I bet if we go to this point we shall find whatever it is our Mr Hernandez is so eager to get his hands on. Steve, can you keep this quiet? I want to see if we can convince Carlos Hernandez to 'collect' the treasure. If I'm right, I think we shall find quite a hoard." Mark smiled at his son, who in return grinned knowing his father had formed a plan. 


	4. Time for murder chapter 4

CHAPTER 4  
  
With Jesse's shift over, he went with his best friend to the co-ordinates on the reverse of the watch. "Steve, what are we looking for?" asked the young doctor hoping for a reassuring answer.  
  
He didn't get one. "I don't know," was all the detective could offer.  
  
Using the latest in satellite Global Positioning technology, Steve stood in the exact location given by the co-ordinates. To his right stood a giant Sequoia. Jesse was puzzled. "There's nothing here!"  
  
"What did you expect? A large 'X' painted on the ground!" Steve's sarcasm earned him a playful shove from Jesse. As he moved something glinted under a pile of dead leaves. It was a corner of a metal chest.  
  
"It really is buried treasure!" exclaimed Jesse in amazement.  
  
Both men dropped to their knees and dug furiously away at the sunken metal casket. Pulling it to the surface, Steve dusted off the mud that had stuck to the outside, revealing a lock.  
  
Mark picked up his cell phone and dialled a series of numbers. A moment later he began talking. "Senor Hernandez? It's Mark Sloan…I think I have something of yours from Oscar Fielding…Meet me at the south entrance to Montoya Forest at 4pm." Mark hung up as he snapped together the flap on his phone, a devious glint in his steely blue eyes. He knew greed would be Hernandez's downfall.  
  
The afternoon sun spilled through the canopy of trees at the gateway into Montoya Forest. Dr Mark Sloan checked his watch, it read 3.57pm; he hotched from foot to foot as he waited patiently for Hernandez to arrive. Steve and Jesse also waited hidden from view, but close enough should Mark need assistance.  
  
A grey sedan drove up to the spot where Mark stood. Steve pressed his finger to his ear to listen to the conversation his father was having with Carlos Hernandez through the miniature microphone Mark wore under his clothes. "Dr Sloan?" oiled the hispanic voice from within the car. "You have the co-ordinates?"  
  
Mark nodded and replied, "You have the keys?" Hernandez looked suspicious at the prospect that Mark knew he had the set of keys that had belonged to Oscar fielding. Mark noticed the cautionary look he was given and, as if to quell Hernandez's fears, responded "My son witnessed you pick the keys from the body of Oscar Fielding, just after you murdered him." Mark knew the risk he was undertaking by informing the suspect that Steve had witnessed the murder, but to convict him the police needed proof.  
  
"Good save dad," Steve muttered under his breath. He just hoped Hernandez bought his fathers explanation. Dr Sloan's luck was in, Carlos Hernandez accepted the medic's story, he just hoped that it would last.  
  
Carlos Hernandez had brought with him the latest in GPS gadgetry, together with a Colt .45. He keyed in the co-ordinates, aimed the loaded gun at Mark, and gestured him to lead the way. The two men walked into the wooded area to the point where the co-ordinates intersected.  
  
Steve and Jess had witnessed the events as they occurred. Stealthily, they made their way around to the site where the chest had been reburied. They arrived and settled themselves just in time to see Mark and Hernandez stop at the 'target zone'.  
  
"You know," began Carlos "if I find you have double-crossed me, I shall kill you where you stand and then I shall kill your precious son. Oh, and the female doctor, I know you found her, but what's to stop me from adding her to my 'death-wish' list?" Hernandez emitted an evil laugh and nudged Mark's ribs with the cold steel of the gun. "Dig!" he ordered.  
  
Mark dropped to his knees, and with his bare hands began to scrape away at the earth. A few centimetres below the surface, Mark came across the top edge of a metal casket. Hernandez became consumed by greed and pushed Mark flat on the ground as he scrabbled to retrieve the box. He pulled the container up onto the flat carpet of the forest floor and rummaged in his pockets for the key that would unlock the mystery and solve the murder. The tiny brass key slid into the lock and turned effortlessly releasing the secrets within.  
  
Steve and Jesse exited their hiding places; Lieutenant Sloan held his 9mm Beretta aimed directly at Carlos Hernandez "Freeze, police…" Steve instructed.  
  
The response was startling, Hernandez reached over and dragged the fallen Mark Sloan in front of himself and pointed the .45 directly in the doctor's neck. Jesse tried to sneak around the back of Hernandez but his movement was spotted. A gunshot rang out and Jesse fell to the floor, motionless.  
  
"Jess!" exclaimed Mark as the muzzle of the handgun returned to his neck. The pungent odour of cordite stung his nostrils, and his heart sank as he could see and increasing pool of red soaking into the cotton of Jesse Travis' yellow shirt.  
  
Steve relinquished his weapon, dropping it to the floor with helpless resignation. Hernandez believed he had the upper hand and released his grip on the senior member of the Sloan family and turned his attention back to the metal casket. Mark moved away and stood next to his son. Their captor lifted the lid slowly, to reveal a number of pieces of antique crystal, china and an oil painting of a woman in Victorian dress arranging flowers in a vase. Hernandez raised the picture to his eye level, and without hesitation began to explain the connection between himself and Oscar Fielding to the two men who stood to his right with their hands raised. "Fielding was an antique dealer, perfectly legitimate, but he also had debts, large debts. We came to an arrangement where I would pay him for 'unique' items."  
  
"Unique items?" questioned Mark.  
  
"Let's just say, items that were not necessarily for sale originally," grinned Hernandez.  
  
"Stolen," clarified Steve in a cursory tone.  
  
"That is such an unpleasant word," remarked Carlos.  
  
Hernandez suddenly spun around as a small rock landed near to where he stood. Detective Sloan saw his chance and made a flying rugby tackle onto the back of the man whom had held them hostage. After a brief tussle, Steve had handcuffed Hernandez's hands behind his back Mark rushed to Jesse's side. Blood oozed from the bullet wound in the upper left quadrant of Jesse's abdomen. Mark stemmed the bleeding by applying pressure to the entry sight. The force on his chest caused Jesse to wince and emit an agonising cry. Mark then pulled out his cell phone and dialled 911 with his bloodied fingers. "This is Dr Mark Sloan, I need an ambulance at the south side of Montoya Forest. I have a gunshot victim, and I believe the bullet may have ruptured his spleen." Mark snapped shut his phone and shoved it back into his pocket. "Hold on Jess," his voice trying to comfort his patient knowing full well the life-threatening condition he was in.  
  
Steve handed over his prisoner to two uniformed officers who had been called to the scene before he returned to his best friend's side. A growing sense of guilt built in his stomach as he saw the quantity of blood Jesse had lost. "I'm sorry Jess."  
  
"Wh-what for?" Jess let in sharp breath as the pain bit into his abdomen.  
  
"Getting you mixed up in this," Steve hung his head.  
  
The sound of sirens approached. "I should learn to duck," Jess smiled. His smile, however, quickly turned into a grimace as another spear of pain hit him again. Two men in bright florescent jackets made their way to the position of the casualty. Mark joined Jesse in the back of the ambulance with the paramedic whilst Steve followed on behind in his pickup truck.  
  
At Community General, Dr Jesse Travis was rushed straight into the OR for surgery. Mark and Steve went to Amanda's room to break the news to her. She was sitting up in bed watching the evening news when her two visitors entered. The look on their faces told her everything without either of them uttering a single word.  
  
All three sat in silence awaiting word from the OR. Finally, Dr Walter Michaels entered Dr Bentley's room. He still wore his blood stained blue surgical scrubs and a facemask tied loosely around his neck as he approached the small group of anxious onlookers he offered a welcoming smile. This alone lifted the atmosphere. "Jesse is a very lucky young man. The bullet had only nicked his spleen and we were able to repair the damage."  
  
Mark shook his head, the relief taking off the ten years he had aged over the past few hours, he thanked his colleague with a firm handshake. Amanda cried as Steve held her close, careful not to squeeze her ribs.  
  
The next day, Jesse was sitting up in bed reading through the latest surfing magazine that he had managed to get one of the young nurses to purchase for him (along with a ham and pickle sandwich from the deli down the street). Mark entered the room cloaked in his white lab coat and carrying Jesse's medical chart. "You're a lucky man, you could have got yourself killed yesterday," Dr Sloan scolded. "We are all just glad you are going to be alright," his tone softened as he noticed his patient begin to cower slightly. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Sorry," Jesse apologised. "I just couldn't stand by and let that crook kill you, I had to distract him somehow." As if part of a separate conversation he answered "Just a little sore."  
  
"By making yourself into a target?" Mark asked incredulously. "I can get you some more painkillers." The split conversation continued.  
  
"That was not my plan." Jess slapped his thigh in frustration. "No, I'll be OK, thanks."  
  
A knock at the door distracted the unusual doctor and patient conversation. Steve entered Jesse's room pushing Amanda in a wheelchair.  
  
"Hey, it's great to see you guys!" Jesse beamed.  
  
"It's good to see you too," smiled Amanda.  
  
"Do you want to see my scar?" asked Jess to the others, who couldn't help but laugh at the young surgeon's pride in the part he had played in the capture of Carlos Hernandez.  
  
"Oh, and by the way," began Amanda. "I want to have a word with you about my filing…"  
  
Jess considered himself fortunate he was in a hospital bed, and that Amanda was currently in a wheelchair for he knew how fiery Amanda's temper could get and how orderly she liked things.  
  
Both Steve and Mark chuckled to each other as they left the room. "Hey guys, don't go," pleaded Jess as both the Sloans left him alone with Amanda.  
  
"You look smart," commented Mark as he noticed how well dressed his son was that particular morning. "New shirt?"  
  
"Yes, I have a date. I'm taking Dani out for a picnic in the woods," he smiled at his father.  
  
  
  
THE END  
  
  
  
8th April, 2002. 


End file.
